


play me like a love song

by sky_somedays



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Getting Together, Insecure Shane, M/M, Miscommunication, Standard Academic Alcoholism, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_somedays/pseuds/sky_somedays
Summary: Wikipedia articles aren’t valid research sources.-sSent from my iPhone“When he torpedoes you on Rate My Professor you’re gonnadeserveit,” TJ informs him.Or: Shane is Ryan's beleaguered history TA. Ryan won't stop suggesting insane theories.





	play me like a love song

**Author's Note:**

> the age difference here is supposed to be three or four years; ryan is 22, shane is 25ish, there's no weird age-gap power dynamics.
> 
> (title from Bloom by Troye Sivan)

Shane narrowly avoids being late for his first lecture of the winter semester. He’d been up late the night before celebrating TJ’s engagement, and had tumbled into bed at some ungodly hour for what felt like no time at all before his alarm had roused him. Shane has made it through most of his college career avoiding 8am lectures but this semester he wasn’t so lucky.

“Morning,” he grunts to TJ when they bump into each other in the kitchen. TJ is holding the oj carton like he’s not sure what to do with it, still wearing his clothes from the day before.

“Why’d you try to murder me last night?” TJ asks, his voice accusing. “I thought you were my friend.”

“You were the one who thought tequila was a good idea.” Shane finds an apple that looks mostly okay, and chugs some tap water. “I’m going to be late for this fuckin’ class.”

“Take my car,” TJ tells him. “I’m not going anywhere today. I’m calling in sick.”

“Lucky bastard,” Shane grouses, grabbing TJ’s keys from the counter. “But thanks.”

“My prof just loves me,” TJ yells after him, but Shane is already out the door, his headache pounding in time to his footsteps.

Somehow, he manages to get to campus and find a spot in record time. Even record time isn’t enough to allow for a Starbucks run, though, so he’s still half asleep when he arrives at the classroom. He blinks violently as he sets up his desk, waving hello to the room at large, booting up the projector. By the time his slides have loaded and he’s arranged his notes, he’s mostly got a handle on it. A handful of keeners in the front row can tell and are disapproving, but he thinks he’s got most of the rest of the class fooled.

“So,” he says, bracing himself for the longest three hours of his life. “Welcome to History 2453, Death in Ancient Civilizations.”

The first hour passes normally. Half the class slides off into distraction, staring intently at laptop screens that definitely don’t have notes on them, and the other half is passably engaged. A few even ask questions. Shane is still exhausted but he’s getting into the groove a little. He flips to his next slide 

“Alright, let’s move on. Pyramid construction – there are a few theories about this, we’ll go into detail on some of the most popular ones.” He finds his place in his notes and turns to survey the class. There is a hand up, all the way at the back of the room. Shane waves vaguely towards it. “Yes?”

“What about the theory that aliens helped build them?”

“Hilarious,” Shane says, rubbing at his eyes to try and wake himself up. “Anyone else?”

“I’m not joking.”

Shane really wishes he had coffee. “Well then you’re in the wrong class. We learn facts, here. Facts and theories that are based in reality.”

“How do you know these aren’t facts? Or based in reality?”

For the first time, Shane examines the speaker. He’s got one foot propped on the seat in front of him – a strike against him in Shane’s book – and he’s wearing sneakers, the kind that Shane knows are a big deal in certain circles, probably. He’s wearing a backwards cap –  _another_  strike – and a muscle shirt, and – Shane tears his eyes away before it becomes obvious that he’s examining for flaws. “Because there isn’t any proof,” Shane says slowly. “Facts are provable.”

“There  _is_  proof,” Sneakers says. “Have you read some of the evidence? There’s some really compelling evidence, and there are contemporary sightings around the pyramids –”

“Are there peer-reviewed publications about it? Has it been seen repeatedly, by many different people? Are there recordings of it?”

Sneakers hesitates only a split second. “Well – no, but that’s what people said about everything in the early stages of discovery.”

“We’re not breaking new ground here. This has been studied for hundreds of years, if there was more to it, it would have been discovered already.”

“But don’t you think –?”

“If you have any  _evidence_ ,” Shane says loudly, “I would be happy to continue this conversation. Another time.”

Mollified, Sneakers sinks down in his seat and starts typing on his laptop. Shane breathes a sigh of relief.

The rest of the class crawls by at its usual speed. Shane manages to get through his class outline and even answers questions about the upcoming paper before the students disperse. Sneakers trails out of the room last with his friends, and before he disappears he glances over at Shane and catches his eye.  _Aliens are real_  he mouths just before the door slams shut.

 

*

 

TJ is sprawled on the couch when Shane gets back home, wearing sweats and still cradling the oj carton. Shane had stopped to grab food for both of them, and drops a takeout box onto TJ’s lap.

“If I wasn’t already betrothed,” TJ says, clutching at Shane’s hand. Shane shakes him off, unable to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“How was class?” TJ sits up, catches the plastic fork Shane tosses him. “Did you mold young minds?”

“The five of them that were paying attention learned a lot.”

“God, I can’t wait to teach tomorrow.”

An email pings on Shane’s phone. Already rolling his eyes, his swipes into his inbox and opens it. It’s from a name he doesn’t recognize.

“Student already?” TJ asks, digging into his pad thai. “It’s been two days, what are you doing to ‘em?”

“Probably someone dropping.” Shane braces himself as he starts to read.

 

_To: samadej@xxx.edu.com_

_From: rsberga@xxx.edu.com_

_Subject: Hist 2453 – Evidence_

_Hi Mr Madej,_

_As per our discussion in class this morning, I have collected some evidence to support my argument. Please find attached a summary of my research and list of sources._

 

“Jesus Christ,” Shane breathes. “He’s insane.” 

“Who is it?” TJ squints at Shane. “Can’t be a student, you look invested. Is it a Grindr guy?”

“Fuck you, no. It’s one of my students. He’s trying to convince me that aliens are real, and that they built the pyramids.”

“I thought you taught history this semester.”

“I do.” Shane tosses his phone onto the coffee table, unsurprised when TJ picks it up and scrolls through the email. “I told him that in class, that we learn  _facts_  –”

“God, you’re such a square,” TJ laughs. He opens the Facebook app on Shane’s phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to put a face to this conspiracy-theory weirdo.”

“If you like one of his photos from my account I could get fired.”

TJ rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.” He swipes through photos for a moment, looking thoughtful, before holding the phone out to Shane. The screen filled with a picture of sneakers – Ryan – posing with a small crowd of people outside a frat house. “He’s not what I imagined.”

Shane shrugs. “He bought into Greek culture, he also buys into alien conspiracy theories. Seems about right.”

“You’re  _whiny_  today,” TJ says. “Is the class that bad?”

“Yes,” Shane grumbles. “I can already tell that grading their papers is going to be agony.”

“Ain’t that always the way.”

“Putting sheets through a Scantron machine is not the same, get off my lawn.”

TJ peers at him, stroking his beard contemplatively. “Hmm.”

Shane doesn’t want to know what that means. 

 

*

 

Shane doesn’t answer the email right away. He re-reads it a few times, furtively, when TJ isn’t around to judge him and make cryptic noises. He even reads the attached ‘evidence’, scoffing at the total lack of credibility. He’s not sure why he cares but he  _does_ , to his chagrin. There’s something about Ryan’s certainty that just irritates Shane, an itch he’s dying to scratch. Shane also can’t help but picture Ryan in some sticky frat house typing up his crazy conspiracy theories in lieu of – what? Hanging out with his friends? Doing literally anything else? Fuck it. Shane’s intrigued.

Eventually, Wednesday evening rolls around and Shane decides he has to respond before he sees Ryan in class the next morning. He ends up typing a polite rebuke at midnight and firing it off without re-reading it. He’s sure that will be the end of it.

 

*

 

It is decidedly not the end of it.

Shane manages to leave himself enough time for coffee, so is significantly more present when he gets to class the next morning. He’s actually got time to spare, he realizes, powering up the projector. The class is only half-full, students chattering and arranging themselves into clusters around the room. He takes his time arranging his notes, checks him email on his phone for the first time that morning. No response from Ryan. Shane frowns at himself for even noticing. He starts scrolling through social media on impulse.

There’s a cough. Shane looks up from where he is slumped against the lectern and finds himself staring right into Ryan’s eyes. They’re brown, and far too close to Shane.

“Good morning,” Shane says, because he can’t think of anything else.

“Morning. I just read your email.” Ryan breaks eye contact to scroll through his own phone, a furrow between his eyebrows. “I noticed you didn’t really argue your point.”

Shane blinks. It’s too early for this. “What?”

“You didn’t argue your point. You just said I was wrong. And I quote: ’While I appreciate your commitment to your stance, the evidence you provide is lacking’ – well where’s your evidence, then?”

Shane looks up at the clock on the wall, a silent plea for help. They still have five minutes before class. “I don’t need evidence. You’re trying to convince me that aliens built the pyramids and I’m saying they didn’t because there’s no evidence. That’s my evidence.”

“That – you can’t do that. You can’t prove they  _didn’t_.”

“And you can’t prove that they  _did_.”

“There have been accounts! Real accounts, from hundreds of people, seeing things on site – do you really think that all those people were lying? Accounts match up, do you think they all got together and got their stories straight?”

“I think people  _believe_  they saw aliens. And that if they read other accounts, that will affect their memory.”

“So you don’t think that anything I sent you was worth considering?”

“...No.”

Ryan just narrows his eyes at Shane, like Shane’s a puzzle he wants to solve. He doesn’t look annoyed or frustrated, just interested. Intense. It’s a little invasive. “This isn’t over.”

“Okay?” Shane finds himself laughing helplessly as he watches Ryan find a seat.

Shane expects Ryan to try and derail the lecture at some point with more crazy theories, but he doesn’t. He just sits at the back, laptop balanced on one knee, tapping away at his keyboard. He seems like he’s paying attention. Shane tries to focus on the lecture and not glance up at Ryan too often.

 

*

 

Shane gets another email just as he gets home. Clearly it wasn’t the lecture that Ryan had been so focused on.

“You get another email?” TJ asks, making Shane jump. He’s standing in the hall staring at his phone, hasn’t even taken off his jacket yet. TJ is wearing his lab coat and boxers and that’s it.

“Didn’t you have lab today?” Shane asks, toeing his shoes off and sticking his phone in his pocket.

TJ does a twirl. “Obviously.” 

“You’re  _engaged_ ,” Shane says, half statement, half question.

“I’m engaged,” TJ repeats dreamily. “Don’t think you can distract me from that email you were reading, by the way.” 

“I wasn’t,” Shane says, but TJ just raises his eyebrows.

“Was it from your frat boy?”

“Jesus.” Shane flops down on the couch. “Yeah, okay, he emailed me more research.”

“You gonna read it?”

“Probably.”

TJ looks smug. Shane ignores him.

 

*

 

Shane does read it. He reads it twice, then a third time the next day, marveling at the frankly ridiculous number of sources, then taps out a response:

_Wikipedia articles aren’t valid research sources._

_-s_

_Sent from my iPhone_

“When he torpedoes you on Rate My Professor you’re gonna  _deserve_  it,” TJ informs him, hanging over the back of the couch to read Shane’s handiwork.

Shane decides he’s fine with that.

 

*

 

He gets a second email that evening as he’s poring over his notes for the next morning’s class. This time it’s a mass of links to ‘first hand accounts’, with Ryan’s indignant commentary interspersed. Shane skims through it and laughs, reads some of it out to TJ. A not insignificant part of him is impressed at the work, even though it’s misguided. Ryan’s obviously spending a lot of time researching this. Time he should feasibly be spending on homework. But the semester just started and it’s entertaining, so Shane doesn’t feel too guilty.

 

* 

 

The next morning he’s almost looking forward to class. He breezes through his lecture, fields questions about the upcoming assignment, and wraps up with a cool ten minutes to spare. He lets the class go early and takes his time packing his bag and clearing off the chalk board before he locks up. He’s already on his way to the grad bar by virtue of muscle memory, wondering distantly if looking forward to a beer at noon is a sign of something, when a voice calls his name.

“Mr Madej! Hey, Mr Madej, wait up.” It’s Ryan. He’s got a gym bag slung over his shoulder and is holding a protein shake the size of one of his biceps, both of which Shane managed to miss in class.

“You can call me Shane, you know, I put it on the syllabus. Also: hey there.” Shane blinks at him.

“Shane. Okay. I’m Ryan Bergara.” Ryan sticks his hand out and they shake, and Shane definitely isn’t forming opinions about how strong Ryan’s grip is or anything. “I realized I didn’t introduce myself before.”

“What can I do for you?” Shane asks, clearing his throat.

“You can admit you’re wrong.”

Shane can’t help it. “Oh fuck  _you_ , I am not wrong.”

Weirdly – and thus fittingly – Ryan looks  _delighted_. “Oh yes you are! Did you read my latest email?”

“Of course I did. It didn’t deserve an answer.”

“What! Yes it did! It was first-hand evidence!” Shane can hear each individual exclamation point. “Since you’re so averse to Wikipedia articles – which is  _stupid_ , by the way, they’re a great jumping-off point and you know it.”

“If we’re going to talk about this,” Shane says, making a snap decision, “I need a drink.”

This throws Ryan for a loop. “Now?”

“Yep.” Shane starts walking and is gratified when Ryan falls into step beside him. “The grad bar starts serving at eleven.”

“You’re a walking stereotype. A very tall one.”

“Wow, a dig at my height already? Don’t forget who’s grading your papers, Bergara.”

Ryan laughs, loud and surprised. “Are you  _threatening_  me?”

“Yes,” Shane deadpans. Then he coughs. “I’m not actually threatening you. I need to make that clear, in case you decide to sue me or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Ryan readjusts the strap of his gym bag. He looks almost nervous, suddenly.

A thought occurs to Shane. “You’re legal, right? To drink I mean. Or am I taking my underage student to a bar right now?”

“Do I look underage?” Ryan has the audacity to look down at his own (admittedly nicely-sculpted) chest and arms. “Man, way to give a guy a complex.”

Shane snorts. “Sre you trying to change the subject because you  _are_  underage?”

“Nah, I’m twenty-two.”

“Great,” Shane says.

They end up crammed into Shane’s regular booth at the back of the bar. Ryan buys them a pitcher and they argue about aliens in earnest. Ryan brought print-outs and a few books that look like they were vanity-published, and gets louder and louder with each glass of beer. Shane finds himself deeply enmeshed in an unnecessarily complicated dissection of a specific theory when someone comes by to take the empty pitcher. “Another round?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Ryan says immediately. “And nachos, please.”

Shane’s stomach growls right on cue. “Good call,” he says. “But you’re buying – you’re torturing me, here.” 

Shane doesn’t even realize how much time has passed until Ryan looks at his phone a while later and groans. “Fuck. I’ve gotta go, I have to meet my friend.” He gestures to his gym bag. “We were supposed to work out together.” 

Shane checks his own phone for the first time since they sat down. It’s 4pm. “What the hell.” 

Ryan raises his eyebrows. “Right? Time flies when you’re having –”

“Really?”

“–  _A terrible time_.”

“Are you maybe a little drunk to go to the gym?” Shane watches uncertainly as Ryan stands, but he seems sure-footed enough.

“I’ve gone to the gym way drunker than this.” Ryan doesn’t seem to register that this is ridiculous. ”Well. This was – frustrating.”

“For both of us.”

“Let’s do this again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Shane says before he can think better of it. “Sure.”

 

*

 

‘Sometime’ turns out to be two days later. Ryan dawdles around after class as everyone else filters out. Shane pretends not to notice until the last student has disappeared. He takes his time straightening the desk and tucking the chair in, cleaning off the chalk board, packing up his notes.

“Need something?” Shane asks, clapping chalk dust from his hands, when it’s just the two of them in the room.

“Yeah – your dignity.” Ryan waves a sheaf of papers, looking smug as shit. “Read these and then tell me that ghosts aren’t real.”

“That’s literally what I’m going to do.” Shane slings his bag over his shoulder. “What’s with you and printing stuff out? Aren’t millennials all about screens?”

“You’re a millennial too and I’ve seen you carrying the newspaper around, so. Stones, glass houses.”

Shane locks up and Ryan waits for him, curling his papers into a roll and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’s always thrumming with vaguely nervous energy. When Shane has pocketed his keys there’s a moment where they both just look at each other. There’s no real precedent set. Shane is aware that things are rapidly deteriorating into awkwardness.

“Bar?” Ryan asks, not a moment too soon.

Shane exhales in relief and hopes it’s not too obvious. “Best suggestion you’ve had so far.”

“I think maybe you drink too much,” Ryan says as they start walking. “And that’s coming from me, dude.”

“Talk to me when you’ve got a thesis to write.”

Ryan makes a face. “Fuck, no. I’m getting my degree and then getting the hell out.”

“Makes sense that you’re not destined for academia,” Shane says, before it occurs to him that being straight-up mean to a student might be a bad idea.

Ryan just laughs. “You  _dick_.”

They argue all the way to the grad bar. Shane half expects for the rapport to die out and for things to get weird, but it never happens. When they arrive Ryan holds the door open for Shane, nabs the same booth as before. They each get a burger with their pitcher this time. Ryan eats his whole burger in about five minutes and then leans back in the corner of the booth, rubbing his belly and making  _oof_  sounds like a weirdo. Shane shouldn’t be charmed by any of it, but to his embarrassment discovers that he is.

“So let’s have it,” Shane says, pretending not to notice that Ryan is stealing half of his fries despite all the groaning. “What’s this evidence that’s going to knock my socks off?”

“Get ready. It’s gonna knock your socks clean off. They’re gonna fly right across the room.”

Ryan’s ‘evidence’ is bullshit, of course, and Shane enjoys shooting it down as Ryan makes more and more outraged noises. Shane keeps a straight face for as long as he can. Eventually he cracks a smile, unable to help it.

“You’re laughing at me,” Ryan accuses, even though he’s cracking up too. “You’re not even taking this seriously.”

“I’ve – entertained it. I listened. That’s about as much as you can ask of me.”

“How can you not –? At least kinda believe it? It’s so convincing!”

“Nope.”

“God, you’re infuriating.” Ryan makes it sound like a compliment, somehow. “It’s going to be  _so_  satisfying when I prove you wrong.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’ve got a strategy,” Ryan says cryptically, splitting the remainder of the pitcher between their glasses. “You’ll just have to wait.”

Shane thinks he’s fine with that.

 

*

 

The next time they hang out is a week later. Ryan appears at Shane’s desk after class and starts talking about the loch ness monster with absolutely no preamble. Shane waits until the rest of the class has disappeared before he argues back properly, shoving notes into his bag in a sudden hurry. Ryan has the same idea, it seems, because they both walk towards the grad bar without discussing it, Ryan a mess of wildly gesticulating hands as he describes the  _very compelling evidence_  that a giant sea creatures lives in basically every body of water imaginable.

The time after that, it’s yeti talk, and Ryan seems to have been stockpiling Bigfoot jokes since he first met Shane, because every other thing he says is implying Shane is part cryptid. The time after that, it’s demonic possessions. After that Shane stops keeping track. It’s become a habit now, a part of his weekly routine, meeting Ryan after class and arguing until one of them has to leave. It’s usually Ryan – Shane would sit and talk to him all day, he realizes, and maybe that’s a problem. An issue for future Shane.

“Eventually you’re gonna admit this stuff is compelling,” Ryan tells him one afternoon, stubborn and red-faced.

“You still think you have a shot at convincing me?” Shane asks, incredulous. “ _Still_?”

“I’m playing the long game,” Ryan says. “Patience is the key.”

“You’re  _so annoying_ ,” Shane says. Ryan is clearly taking that as a compliment, grinning down at his notes, and Shane realizes belatedly that that’s exactly how he meant it.

 

*

 

Shane has almost forgotten why he hates being a ta so much when the first major assignment due date rolls around. He has two weeks to mark them, and crawls through a third on the first weekend. He doesn’t start panicking until Thursday of the second week. Ryan takes one look at the still-intimidating stack of papers and Shane’s horrified face and says: “Why don’t we rain check our beer today?” Shane is in no position to argue.

He spends all weekend marking and doesn’t check his inbox until Monday night. He’s got four emails from Ryan, and he skims the first two before he can’t stop yawning and has to call it a night. He skims part of the third on his walk to class the next morning. He realizes as he starts class that he’s disappointed he wasn’t able to finish them.

After class, the students shuffle up to Shane’s desk to retrieve their marked papers. Shane pretends not to notice that Ryan waits until everyone else gets theirs before he approaches Shane.

“How nervous should I be?” he laughs, taking his paper from Shane. Their fingers touch for a second and Shane tries to ignore how the sensation lingers.

“The grade reflects the effort,” Shane says cryptically.

Ryan winces as he flips to the back page. “Yikes.”

“You spent the whole of last week compiling a master list of ‘ghost evidence’,” Shane says, exaggeratedly air-quoting just to make Ryan flip him off. “I read both and the master list was better researched.”

“Well you definitely can’t be accused of favouritism. This is just cruel.”

“Learn what a run-on sentence is. And brush up on your citation skills.”

“Wanna go get a drink?” Ryan shoves the paper in his bag. He doesn’t even seem that bothered. “I was going to ask anyway but now I really need it. You’re buying.”

“You made me read that shit –  _you_  should be buying.”

Ryan holds the door open for him, making an undignified spluttering sound. “You can’t tell me you haven’t read worse.”

“That’s true,” Shane concedes. “I have read some  _shockingly_  terrible papers.”

“Where did mine rank?”

“Below the middle, but only a little.”

“Slightly below average. My goal in life.” Ryan does a fist pump.

They walk over to the grad bar like they always do, comfortable habit by now. Shane is a creature of habit and Ryan has slotted into his routine so seamlessly it’s like he was always there.

“So hey,” Ryan says as they start on their first pitcher. “I know you were busy marking and stuff, and didn’t have time to answer all my well-crafted email –” he studiously ignores Shane’s snort “– but it sucked not being able to annoy you  _at all_. You should give me your number so I can text you.”

Shane sips his beer, already pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I must be a masochist,” he says, handing it over.

“I think you  _want_  to believe. Don’t worry, you’ll get there.” Ryan pats Shane’s hand, then busies himself with Shane’s phone. Shane drinks more beer and doesn’t say anything.

Later, when Shane checks his contact, he finds Ryan’s name, followed by seven ghost emojis. Ryan had texted himself from Shane’s phone:  _I’m an idiot who’s wrong all the time_.

 

*

 

Ryan starts texting Shane insane bullshit. Shane had expecting the emails to stop now that Ryan had a more direct line of communication, but they don’t. Instead, Ryan texts him abbreviated versions of evidence, demands he check his inbox, sends him a million gifs apropos of nothing, often at all times of the night.  _Did you read my latest email?_  He texts Shane at least once a day.  _This one is very compelling_. Shane responds to most of Ryan’s texts with differing numbers of poop emojis, but Ryan isn’t deterred.

Somewhere in the back of Shane’s mind he can’t shake the idea that Ryan must be angling for something, that he can’t possibly just be hanging out with Shane for  _fun_. He doesn’t voice that out loud. He tries his best not to dwell on it.

 

*

 

Shane has no idea why he lets TJ drag him to a goddamn house party. “We’re too old,” Shane protests when TJ brings it up. “You’re  _engaged_.” TJ ignores him and Shane ends up going. Of course.

They get there well past 10pm which is about the time that Shane usually starts winding down for the night. There’s something bass-y and annoying playing in the living room and it’s busy, far busier than Shane had expected. He follows TJ out to the back patio and they settle down on some empty lawn chairs amid the clouds of weed smoke. Someone passes Shane a bong and he feels like he’s eighteen again, lanky and awkward and trying to look like he’s having a good time, like he belongs here. He takes a hit to steady his nerves, and another one for good measure.

“Puff puff pass, Madej,” TJ gripes beside him. Shane passes it over, already feeling the tugging around his temples. It’s been a long time since he’s smoked weed.

Pretty soon Shane is feeling loose-limbed and goofy, laughing at everything TJ says. TJ has found them some beers from somewhere and Shane’s mouth soon tastes disgusting, but he decides that this party is okay, all things considered. He hasn’t seen anyone he recognizes yet which is a plus, especially with his eyelids at half mast, giggling at jokes that aren’t funny.

“Shane!” a voice calls.

“Who’s that?” TJ sits up straight and whacks Shane in the shoulder. “Do you have other friends I don’t know about?”

“Probably another Shane,” Shane says. His whole head is cottony-feeling. His tongue is heavy, making the words come out slightly slurred. “There’s a lot of us. Lotta Shanes.”

“Mr Madej!”

“Oh my god,” TJ says, “it’s your frat boy.”

“I don’t think I have a frat boy.”

“He called you  _Mr Madej_.”

“That’s my name,” Shane protests. “Sort of.”

It’s then that Ryan appears in front of them, wearing a floral button-down and unfairly skinny jeans. He’s barefoot for some reason. Shane blinks.

“Did you Apparate here? You look like an elf.” He didn’t really mean to say either of those things.

“You’re  _baked_ ,” Ryan says, and he sounds so happy about it that Shane almost forgets that this is probably bad. “Shit, dude, I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“I’m here under duress,” Shane says, pointing an accusatory finger at TJ. “He’s a monster.”

“Hey, I’m TJ.” TJ leans over to shake Ryan’s hand. “The enabler.” 

Ryan is beaming like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “He needs one! I assumed he was always in bed by nine. I’m impressed.” He drains the beer he’s holding, tosses the can onto the grass, and motions at Shane. “Budge over, I wanna talk.”

“Is this ghost related?” Shane asks, suspicious, but he shuffles over all the same. The chair is more of a bench, really, but it’s still tight with the two of them on it. They’re pressed together from shoulder to knee, Ryan warm and solid against him. Shane feels an unwelcome flutter somewhere in his stomach.

“No, this is aliens.”

“You weren’t kidding,” TJ says, and Shane can tell that he’s fighting to keep a straight face.

Ryan cocks his head. “What?”

“Shane told me you liked spooky stuff.”

“He called it  _spooky stuff_?” Ryan sounds a combination of offended and endeared. Or maybe Shane’s just really stoned.

“I’m gonna go get another beer.” TJ stands, ruffles a hand through Shane’s hair. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“He’s cool,” Ryan says, watching TJ’s retreating back. “Is he – are you guys –?” He cuts himself off, scratching his head. “Ahh, sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“He’s my roommate,” Shane says. Then, trying to be casual: “He got engaged recently.”

“Ohh!” Ryan sounds happy to hear it. Shane’s whole chest clenches.

“So, uh – what did you want to talk about? Aliens?”

Ryan draws his feet up onto the chair, one of his knees resting against Shane’s thigh. Shane tries not to squirm. “ _Yes_. I was reading this great forum thread by people who’ve been abducted and it’s really compelling.”

“I doubt that,” Shane says, mostly to make Ryan pull an outraged face.

Shane lets Ryan talk his ear off about aliens as the party continues inside. TJ never returns, which Shane suspects is intentional, and eventually the other people clustered around outside retreat indoors. It’s a chilly night, and Shane ends up with his arm circled loosely around Ryan’s back, Ryan’s legs slung across his lap. It’s far more intimate than Shane would allow if he weren’t high but it’s comfortable and so nice that he doesn’t protest. He’s the kind of high where everything is interesting and bright and funny, and listening to Ryan describe people being beamed up by flying saucers is fun. Shane realizes he’s sketching weird patterns onto Ryan’s side but that’s fun, too, and Ryan doesn’t seem to mind, flashing smile after smile at Shane as he talks.

“Where are your shoes?” Shane asks eventually, tapping Ryan’s bare foot. He lets his hand linger, cupping the top of Ryan’s ankle.

“Somewhere safe,” Ryan says, wriggling his toes. “They were four hundred bucks, I couldn’t risk ‘em. This place is sloppy.”

“You – you hid your shoes?” Shane finds this hilarious, which he’s distantly aware will be embarrassing when he’s sober. He giggles helplessly. “Are you sending yourself on a scavenger hunt later?”

“Oh my god you’re so fucked,” Ryan laughs, and he reaches up and strokes the side of Shane’s face.

“’m not that fucked,” Shane argues, his whole face warm and tingly. “Just – brain to mouth filter’s fucked.”

“Yeah?” Ryan settles his hand against Shane’s neck, fingers curling in the too-long hair at his nape.

“Yeah.” They’re very close. “We’re – you’re basically sitting on me, when’d this happen?”

“As soon as I saw you were here. Is it okay?”

“Yeah,” Shane says again, his mouth clumsy and slow against the word. “Super okay.”

Ryan smiles, and it’s huge and close and it makes Shane’s stomach jump. “Super okay,” Ryan repeats, and leans in.

They’re kissing, almost, just touching together, just beginning, when what they’re doing hits Shane. He pulls away as soon as his brain catches up, moves a little too fast, clips his head against the back of the chair. Ryan blinks at him, pupils blown and mouth parted slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t,” Shane says. “I’m – it’s not a good idea.”

Ryan frowns. He looks hurt, maybe. “Why?”

“You’re my student. It’s a conflict.”

“It’s not like – it’s  _illegal_  or anything, I mean I’m an adult, you’re an adult – you’re the one making it weird.”

Shane shakes his head, wishing, suddenly, that he was sober. That he could think properly. “No – no, we shouldn’t.” 

“You kissed me back.”

“I know – I know, I shouldn’t have. I’m out of it.”

“You only kissed me because you’re out of it?” Ryan looks stricken. “Fuck, man – I didn’t mean to, to – like – take advent–”

“No no no, no, stop. You didn’t.” Shane shifts around on the chair, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of Ryan’s legs. “I just. We shouldn’t be sitting like this. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Okay.” Ryan swings his legs off of Shane and stands up, swaying a little. Shane realizes he must be drunk. “Sorry.” He starts heading back to the house – time seems to be fast-forwarding, and Shane wonders how it could be that Ryan was sitting with him just seconds ago, his body heat just starting to dissipate from Shane’s skin.

“Wait,” Shane says, and he stands to follow. Everything rushes around him but he keeps his balance. “Ryan, wait.”

By the time Shane has made it inside, Ryan is gone, somehow. There’s only half as many people as there was before. Shane wonders how long they had been sitting outside.

“Shane, buddy.” A hand claps him on the shoulder. It’s TJ. “You look faded as all hell.”

“Yeah,” Shane says, smeared and distracted. “Did you see Ryan?”

“He just left. Told me to find you, he said you were pretty out of it.”

“Oh.” Shane frowns, palming at his face. “Shit.”

“Everything okay?” TJ squints up into Shane’s face. “You guys were getting cozy.” 

“Let’s go home,” Shane says. “I’m tired.”

TJ just nods, steers Shane towards the door with a hand on his back. They grab a Lyft back to their apartment. Shane stares at his phone the whole way, wondering if Ryan will text him. In the end he texts Ryan:  _for the best if we don’t hang out for a while_. Ryan sends back an  _ok_  almost instantly and Shane tries not to feel anything about it.

 

*

 

The next morning TJ makes them bacon and eggs and they sit on the balcony in their house coats. Shane has the sluggish beginnings of a weed hangover, slumped down in his chair, shoveling food into his mouth without really tasting it. He left his phone inside on purpose and all he wants to do is go and check it.

“So do you wanna talk about it?” TJ asks, scratching his bare chest. “I’m picking Kate up from the airport this afternoon, you should vent to me now.”

“I don’t  _vent_ ,” Shane says, “and there’s nothing to vent about. I’m just tired.”

“Ryan seemed upset when he left yesterday. So I know you’re bullshitting me, and you’re on a time limit, so if you want my help –”

Shane groans. “What? What do you want me to say? He kissed me and I told him it was a bad idea, and he went home.” 

“I  _knew_  it.” TJ shakes his head like Shane is stupid. “He looked like you’d broken his fragile heart.”

“Shut up, Teej, no he didn’t.”

TJ squints at him. “What exactly is the issue here? I don’t get it. You’re obviously interested, and so is he, so why haven’t I come home to a sock on the front door handle yet?”

“Why would there be a sock on the  _apartment_  door handle –?” Shane waves a hand, cutting himself off. “You know what, never mind. And who says I’m interested?”

“He’s  _exactly_  your type, are you kidding me? Short and built and kinda ditzy.”

Shane knows he shouldn’t bother, but he can’t help but rise to the bait. “He’s not ditzy. He’s just – misguided. Distracted. Gullible, maybe.”

“Defend your boyfriend, much?” TJ pauses. “Not my best work. It’s early, forgive me.”

“Not my boyfriend. But I’ll allow it.” Shane scrapes his fork around on his plate. “He’s just – fun to talk to. Entertaining.”

“Okay, so. Talk to him. Be entertained.”

“There has to be a reason for him hanging around me all the time,” Shane blurts out, against his better judgment. “A grades-related reason.”

“You think he has ulterior motives? Seriously?”

“Well – yeah. Maybe.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

Shane crunches on his last piece of bacon and doesn’t answer. He wants TJ to be right.

“You’re not even giving him good grades.” TJ flicks a piece of egg over the edge of the balcony. “What exactly do you think he’s getting out of this, other than your company?”

“Maybe he thinks he’ll get the answers for the exam,” Shane says, aware that he’s not making much sense. “There has to be a  _reason_.”

“I think he just likes you,” TJ says. Shane has no response to that.

 

* 

 

Shane dreads history class all weekend. He arrives right at 8am on Tuesday, launches directly into the lecture, and lets everyone go early. Ryan doesn’t approach him, after, even though Shane half expects him to. He just shuffles out with the rest of the students. Shane feels like shit for the rest of the day and spends Wednesday buried in his research. Thursday class is similarly uneventful and disappointing, with the exception of a tense moment of eye contact at the beginning that rattles Shane more than he cares to admit.

Days turn into a week, then two weeks, and Shane doesn’t feel any better. It’s not like he’s  _mourning_  or anything, but it fucking sucks. Ryan had been the top of his texts all the time, and now Shane had to scroll to see his name, his last message –  _ok_  – making Shane’s stomach clench whenever he sees it.

Things are quiet in Shane’s inbox too. He tries not to care that he no longer logs in to find Ryan’s name right at the top, usually three times in a row, with subject lines like  _irrefutable proof that aliens helped build the pyramids_  and  _first-hand accounts of your cousin aka actual bigfoot_  and  _ghost possessions!!!!!!_  It’s not like he looked forward to them, or anything.

“You’re pining,” TJ observes. They’re at Shane’s favourite diner (that is, the diner equidistant from his apartment and his office) shoveling a lot of eggs and bacon into the void in Shane’s heart. Or something – Shane’s hungover. “It’s adorable.”

“I’m hungover,” Shane tells him, stirring sugar into his coffee.

“You’re always hungover – no, this is different. You  _miss_  him.”

“I don’t  _miss him_ , I’m not a teenager with a crush. I see him every Tuesday and Thursday morning. And sometimes at the grad bar – I regret showing him that place, he brings his frat guys there now.”

“Yikes. You  _really_  miss him.”

“Oh shut up, Teej,” Shane grumbles.

 

*

 

The silence continues. Shane checks his email way too often, even stoops to furtively looking through Ryan’s social media – they hadn’t added each other at Shane’s insistence, wanting to keep some boundaries. Ryan doesn’t post much anyway, and certainly doesn’t post anything that implies he’s languishing in agony, missing Shane. Shane tries to take that as a sign that he did the right thing, or something. Ryan’s moved on. Shane can, too.

 

*

 

Shane spends his Saturday at the TA office working on his thesis. He puts his phone on airplane mode and pores through print-outs with a highlighter in hand. Nobody else uses the office on weekends and he settles in to a day of solitude, just him and his research. He manages to lose himself for a while, relaxing into the silence, save for the ticking of the solitary wall clock.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been sitting there reading until there’s a knock on the doorjamb. Shane looks up, squinting, waiting for his eyes to adjust after focusing on point 7 text for hours. When the blurry shapes finally materialize into a person, he realizes it’s Ryan.

“Hey,” Ryan says. He sounds hesitant, twisting the hem of his shirt around one finger. “Is this a good time?”

“Sure.” Shane doesn’t know what else to say. He jams a scrap of paper into his book and rakes a hand through his hair. He wonders if he looks as disheveled and unkempt as he feels. “What can I do for you, Ryan?”

Ryan cocks his head. “‘What can I do for you’?” He mimics. “So formal, Mr Madej.”

Shane feels a smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m a formal guy.”

“How could I forget.” Ryan steps into the room, looking around. “Is this your office? There’s no window.”

“Good observation. And there are three of us that use this office, so it’s more of a shared hellscape.”

“Do you lose track of time in here?”

“Frequently.” Shane rubs at his eyes. “How did you find this place? I made sure not to put the room number on the syllabus.”

“I noticed. I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed, by the way.”

Shane shrugs. “What are they going to do, pay me less?”

Ryan laughs, drops into one of the other office chairs and kicks the door shut. Shane immediately tenses up. “There’s a room directory online,” Ryan says. “I just had to find it on the website. So it took me a couple of hours.”

“Sounds about right.” Shane leans across and opens the door, feeling acutely miserable. “Look, sorry, but – I think the door should be open.”

Ryan just looks at him, openly mystified. “You really are formal – it’s weird.”

“Just – I’m your teacher. I could lose my job, as badly-paid as it is. I could get kicked out of my program.

“Teachers have meetings with students all the time, do you really think having the door closed will lead to – anything? Is this school rife with sex scandals I’m not aware of?”

“If – if anything was reported, or suspected, or anything, though – all it takes is one person reporting something.”

“I don’t think that would happen,” Ryan says slowly. “It’s not like I’d report you.”

“I don’t know that.”

Ryan blinks. “Really? You don’t?”

Shane doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. A few seconds tick loudly by in the silence of the tiny office.

“I kinda thought we were at least friends,” Ryan says after a moment. “I thought you liked hanging out.”

“I do! I like telling you you’re wrong, it’s one of the only things that brings me joy.” He affects an eyelid flutter, and Ryan cracks a smile. “But. But I’m still your teacher, and it looks like I’m playing favourites, and it’s – sketchy.”

“Would you have kept talking to me if I hadn’t kissed you?” Ryan’s blushing, slightly, but he doesn’t break eye contact. Shane is the first to look away.

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Then I wish I hadn’t.”

Shane doesn’t know what to say.

“I wanted to,” Ryan continues, tapping a finger against one knee. “I wanted to kiss you, but I guess if I had to choose I’d choose hanging out with you. Is what I’m trying to say. I just didn’t realize I had to choose.”

“I’m sorry if I – if I wasn’t clear.”

“Did you want me to? Kiss you?”

Shane waves a hand around, helplessly. “I mean – yes. Yeah. Of course I did, you’re – you –” he stops, annoyed at how flustered he sounds. “Yes, I wanted you to.” 

“Okay. Good.”

“But we can’t. You’re still my student.”

Ryan exhales loudly. “Oh my god. You’re literally the only one who cares about that.”

“I know. But it matters.”

“Okay,” Ryan says. “So when this semester’s over, you’ll stop being such a paranoid weirdo?”

Shane snorts. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“What does that mean?”

Shane surveys Ryan, sprawled carelessly on a chair like he belongs there – like he belongs  _everywhere_  – in basketball shorts and flip-flops and a tank that shows way too much skin. One hand is splayed on his leg, the other twirling what must be his house key. He’s got a Lakers key fob. A scrape on his left knee. The air of someone who could probably ruin Shane’s life.

“You’re not gonna be here after the semester’s over.”

Ryan blinks at him again. He looks like a meme. “Huh?”

“You’re going to go back to your life and you’ll forget to bombard me with ghost shit and that will be it.”

“Why would –?”

“You’ll pass the class and then – then you’ll be done. With –” Shane waves his hand between them. “– whatever.”

“Wait.” Ryan’s frowning like he does when he’s trying to puzzle out a particularly complicated theory. “Do you think I’m hanging out with you for the  _grade_?”

Shane doesn’t say anything. Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Seriously, dude? Have you seen the grades you’ve been giving me? This class is dragging my average down, why the hell would I do that?”

“The exam,” Shane says, fumbling a little with his own logic, but Ryan is on his feet, his expression increasingly disbelieving.

“I can’t believe you think I’d do that. What the fuck.”

“Ryan,” Shane says, an apology already on the tip of his tongue, but Ryan waves him off.

“No, forget it. I guess I thought – just forget it.” He shoulders his bag, starts to the door, turns back. “You  _really_  –? You thought –? Wow.” And then he’s gone.

Shane listens to his footsteps receding down the hallway. He realizes, belatedly, that Ryan never said why he had dropped by.

 

*

 

Ryan emails Shane the next day, sounding apologetic, and that just makes Shane feel worse. He pretends to forget about it, only to be stymied by Ryan emailing him a second time a day later, with a link to an article about mothman sightings and a sad face emoji. He doesn’t respond to that, either, and knows that his silence is sending a message of its own now. He can’t help it. He reads the entire article three times, miserable and self-pitying, lying on the couch with a bag of stale popcorn.

“You know you can talk to him,” TJ intones, flipping through sports channels on the TV. He’s sitting in the chair to allow Shane more wallowing space. “You don’t need to do this to yourself or to me.”

“I basically implied that he kissed me for exam answers.”

“Which could have been avoided if you’d listened to me.”

“I know.” Shane doesn’t even have the energy to argue. “I still half believe it, though, even though I feel bad about it.”

“Well that’s fucking dumb.” TJ settles on golf, for some reason, reaches over and grab the popcorn bag from Shane. “He likes you. Just let him like you.”

Shane turns his phone around, shows TJ the article he just finished reading for the fourth time. “He sent me an article about mothman.  _Mothman_ , Teej. And I _still_  feel bad.”

“You should email him back,” TJ says, crunching on popcorn. “Tell him you’re a moron and that you’re sorry and that your newly-engaged roommate is out of the apartment  _all the time_  and that he should come over.”

Shane doesn’t really have an answer to that, so he just scrolls back to the top of the article to read it again.

 

*

 

Shane means to email Ryan back, he really does, but it never happens. He lets the end-of-semester deadlines distract him until suddenly the final exam is the next day and he hasn’t spoken with Ryan directly in a month. He knows he’s left it too long. It would be weird to bring it up now, and the more time that passes, the less it feels like anything salvageable anyway. They hung out a few times, made small talk about aliens and ghosts – hardly a love connection. (TJ yells  _oh my god_  when Shane reasons this out to him, but whatever, Shane stands by his analysis.)

The final exam is on a Friday evening, for some cruel reason, and Shane decides it’s a fitting parting shot from the worst class he’s ever had to deal with. He successfully avoids Ryan’s glances as the students file into the exam hall. Thankfully the exams have been distributed already, so all Shane has to do for three hours is lurk around the aisles and not look in Ryan’s direction. He half-expects Ryan to have a question, or request a bathroom break, or something that would make Shane talk to him, but he just sits silently scribbling away. Shane feels something irritatingly close to disappointment as the final half an hour ticks down.

The professor calls time, sighs all around. The exams are passed up and the students start to disperse. Shane busies himself sorting the stack of papers, allows himself one glance. Ryan is talking to his friends as they file out of the room. He doesn’t look back.

By the time Shane is done with his post-exam duties and told he can leave, he’s fantasizing about the bottle of whisky he has at home. He wonders if drinking himself to sleep is anywhere near an acceptable response to willfully ghosting someone.

When he gets outside, he sees Ryan straight away. He’s sitting on his longboard on the curb, his back to Shane, playing on his phone. Shane doesn’t even stop to think if it’s a good idea before he calls “Hey, Ryan!”

Ryan turns around and immediately breaks into a grin that Shane doesn’t feel he deserves. “Hey! I was hoping to catch you.”

“Oh?” Shane isn’t sure what to do with that.

“Yeah.” Ryan joins Shane, longboard under his arm. He looks unfairly good for the end of the semester. “You’ve kinda been avoiding me.”

Shane feels caught. “I haven’t, I’ve just been busy.”

“Right.” Ryan doesn’t look convinced. “Still. We haven’t hung out for a while.”

“You could have – called, or grabbed me after class.” Shane isn’t sure why he’s arguing the point.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” 

“That wouldn’t have bothered me.”

Ryan shrugs. “Good to know. Where are you headed? Do you have work to do?”

“Nah, the professor has all the exams. I’m done for the night.” Shane pauses. “You?”

“I’m all done – semester’s officially over,” Ryan says, rocking back on his heels, hands in the pockets of his sweats. “You’re not my teacher anymore.”

“Thank god,” Shane says. “There was a lot of pressure to actually teach you something, which I’m pretty sure didn’t happen. It’s a weight off my shoulders.”

“You taught me stuff – I got better at debating!”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Shane says, putting a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “You didn’t.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything, just ducks his head slightly, as if to touch his cheek to Shane’s hand. Shane’s whole body freezes up.

“Not my teacher anymore,” Ryan repeats significantly. “Wanna go grab a drink?”

Shane removes his hand. He feels warm all over. “Yeah. I guess I’ll buy this time, you did just write an exam.”

“Or we could have a drink at your place,” Ryan says casually. “I’d offer my place, but – frat house.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Shane says. He wonders what state his apartment is in, or whether TJ is home. “It’s – it’s close enough to campus, we can walk.”

“Cool,” Ryan says.

They argue about mothman for most of the walk over, and Shane wonders, not for the first time, what it is that Ryan likes about him. Somehow, miraculously, the previous weirdness has melted away and things are almost exactly like they were before the party – comfortable and easy. Shane can’t shake  _you’re not my teacher anymore_  from where it’s rattling around in his head, hopes it means what he thinks it means.

They find the apartment mercifully empty and passably tidy, and Shane makes a mental note to thank TJ later.

“Nice place,” Ryan says, toeing off his shoes. He leans his longboard against the wall and wanders into the living room, dropping his backpack on the couch like he belongs there.

“You don’t need to lie,” Shane laughs. He realizes with some irritation that he’s nervous. “Beer?”

“Sure,” Ryan says. Shane retreats to the kitchen and finds the two nicest beers in the fridge. He uncaps them, wonders if he shouldn’t have, wonders if he should give Ryan a glass.

“Stop being stupid,” Shane mutters to himself. Like that helps.

“You’ve got an impressive horror collection!” Ryan calls from the living room. Shane finds him inspecting the DVD shelf. “Are these all yours?”

“Most of them.” Shane hands Ryan his beer. “Some of them are TJ’s. My roommate.”

“When I first met you I pictured you living alone,” Ryan says, taking a pull of his beer. “Alone with, like, a bunch of cats. A real academic’s hovel, y’know?”

“You’ve got a vivid imagination,” Shane tells him.

“We should watch one sometime.” Ryan taps on one of the cases. “I love horror movies.”

“Of course you do.”

Ryan grins. “On brand, right?”

“Very.” Shane’s mouth is suddenly dry. He takes a long swig of beer to try and chase the anxiety away. “Listen – I just wanted to apologize for being such a dick to you, before. I shouldn’t have accused you of anything. And I shouldn’t have ignored your emails. I was being a coward.” He’d rehearsed it in his head so many times that it comes out stilted, like he’s reading from a script.

Ryan just spreads his hands and shrugs. “Ancient history, man. I don’t hold grudges.”

“Huh.” That wasn’t what Shane had expected.

“So I also have something to say.” Ryan turns to face Shane, something determined in the set of his shoulders. “Ignoring the recent stuff while you were having some kind of moral crisis – we’ve been arguing for about four months now. It’s been fun, right?”

Shane blinks. “Uh. Telling you you’re wrong does have some appeal, yes.”

“Shut up, you dick.” Ryan takes a deep breath. “I’m not – imagining the, ah, tension, am I?”

Shane nearly chokes on his beer.

Ryan rambles on as Shane struggles to breathe. “I kissed you at that party and you, uh. Reciprocated. But you were stoned out of your tree and I know you said you were into it, but – you might not be as invested as I am, even though I think you are, but I want to be sure.”

“Invested?”

“I mean come on,” Ryan continues, “all we do is fight about ghosts and day drink, and we never got sick of that – or at least I didn’t. My friend Steve said that’s a sign of like – compatibility.”

“You’ve told your  _friends_  about me?”

Ryan frowns. “Of course. I’ve had to ditch stuff to hang out with you. And then after you stopped talking to me I made them come hang out at the grad bar with me so I wouldn’t look like a loser waiting around to see you. And then there was the party.”

Shane has a lot of questions. “What – what did you tell them? Your  _frat friends_?”

“That I was having fun debating withyou.” Ryan chews on his lip. “That I thought you were funny. And incredibly weird looking but still, y’know. Hot.”

Shane doesn’t know where to begin. “Weird looking?”

“Your head is – at least half a size too big. You’re like eight feet tall. Your legs are  _so long_ , you look like some kind of insect with a tiny thorax – I can’t decide between a grasshopper and a crane fly, but you’re one of those. It looks like you cut your own hair, which is just – I mean, get a barber, man. C’mon.”

Shane is aware that perhaps he should be feeling offended or self-conscious, but somehow he isn’t. In fact he’s feeling the opposite. “I definitely think I’m more of a crane fly.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Ryan says. “We can argue about what kind of bug you are later – I need to know. Was your only hang up the student thing? Because that’s over and there’s no reason for you not to be kissing me right now if that’s, uh, what you want.”

Shane makes a show of squinting at Ryan and tapping his chin like he’s considering it. It gives him time to calm his fizzling nerves.

“Yeah, okay,” he says finally, choking down a laugh at Ryan’s outraged expression. “You won me over. Let’s do it.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Ryan says as he steps into Shane’s space, pressing up – Shane suspects he’s on his toes – and wrapping a hand around the back of Shane’s neck.

Ryan tastes like beer, and popcorn, inexplicably, and he’s a lot pushier than Shane had expected. It’s hot. It’s pretty much the best thing to ever happen to Shane, actually – Ryan reaching out blindly to set their beers down, curling both hands around Shane’s upper arms to pull him in, maneuvering him effortlessly to the couch. He pushes Shane down onto the cushions, plants his knees either side of Shane’s lap. Shane skates his hands under Ryan’s shirt, up his sides, down his back. He settles for gripping Ryan’s hips. Ryan makes an approving sound and leans down to kiss Shane again.

“You are,” Shane says as Ryan starts kissing his neck. He’s  _giddy._  He makes a mental note to be embarrassed later.

Ryan pulls back to give Shane a confused look. “What?”

“Gonna kill me.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really dude? I haven’t even sucked you off yet.”

Shane feigns a swoon. “You’ve got such a way with words.”

“You have no idea.”

“I mean – I’ve got  _some_  idea. I’ve been grading your papers all semester.”

“I’m not as eloquent on paper.”

“ _As_  eloquent?”

“Shut up Shane.”

“Make me,” Shane says, smirking.

Ryan does just that.

 

*

 

_Epilogue_

 

“Did you really believe all that shit we argued about?” Shane asks. “The ghosts and demons and – and fucking Bigfoot?” They’re hanging out in Ryan’s room at the frat. Shane’s still a little weird about it, is still getting used to seeing all of Ryan’s friends, the knowing grins and very unsubtle thumbs up gestures they keep flashing at Ryan when they think Shane can’t see. It’s getting easier though. Ryan makes things easier 

Ryan hums, pauses in the act of packing a bowl. “Uh, maybe sixty percent?”

“ _Sixty percent_?” Shane gapes at him. “You believe sixty percent of that?”

“Not sure if you think that’s high or low.” Ryan sparks his lighter, eyeing Shane down the length of the pipe as he takes a hit.

Shane is still processing it when Ryan hands the pipe over. “What stuff’s included in the sixty percent?” he asks with trepidation.

“Depends.” Ryan leans back against the wall, smiling in that placid, easy way he does when he smokes. “Will you break up with me if aliens building the pyramids is in there?”

Shane’s heart skitters ridiculously over  _break up_  because they haven’t really even labelled this, yet, but that implies there’s something  _to_  break up. Shane tries to maintain a straight face. It’s hard when he’s trying not to grin the biggest grin of his life. “Yes,” he says, raising the pipe to his mouth. “I absolutely will.”

 


End file.
